


Moon Horse

by mcfair_58



Category: Bonanza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27480364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcfair_58/pseuds/mcfair_58
Summary: Little Joe's birthday just won't be the same since Pa has to be gone, so Adam agrees to a campout in the woods on All Hallows Eve - never guessing what terrifying events that innocent choice will put in motion.
Kudos: 2





	Moon Horse

ONE

Fiery logs cracked and popped, revealing two eager young faces. Both were terror-stricken and entranced, drawn in by the story the sandy-haired cowboy sitting directly across from them was spinning. Adam Cartwright lifted a hand to his face and pretended to cough to mask his amusement. He’d been here before. Twelve years back – at the tender age of ten – he’d sat in almost this exact spot, under the same wild and whispering trees, listening to a slightly younger version of Dusty McGrew spin a tale that kept him behaving for the next six months. He was older and wiser now, of course. The shivers running along his spine had nothing to do with Dusty’s story. It was October thirtieth and winter had knocked early on autumn’s door. It was colder than a knot on the North Pole as the old wrangler would have put it. That was why he was shivering.  
At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.  
The campout had been hastily planned when business called Pa away to Hangtown. Normally the four of them would spend the following day – All Hallows Eve – together carving pumpkins, eating gingerbread, and drinking mulled cider by the fire. Hop Sing would prepare a sumptuous repast with wild turkey, Irish potatoes, and every other dish Little Joe loved – very few vegetables among them, mind you – since the holiday was also his birthday. Joe was advancing to the ripe old age of ten this year. ‘Gosh! I’m a whole decade!’ he’d been heard to exclaim. The normal procedure would be to bring out little brother’s presents along with the cake at the end of the day. Adam stifled a sigh as he regarded the little boy. Pa had been moved to tears when he told Little Joe the celebration would have to wait until he got home this year. He’d expected a tantrum – or brooding silence at least – but Joe had taken it like that decade-old man and told Pa he understood.  
Of course, after Pa walked out the door, it was another story.  
Poor little kid. Joe had done his best, sniffing in his disappointment along with any unshed tears. He and Hoss had tried their best to make him feel better. They’d even offered to give the kid a present or two ahead of time. Still, if the truth be known, none of them had the heart to carry on without Pa. Hoss looked almost as forlorn as Joe.  
Until Dusty knocked on the door.  
Leave it to Pa. Seems he’d spoken to the older man on the way out and asked the wrangler to check on them. Dusty had been with them for as long as he could remember. Along with Dan Tollivar the old cowpoke had taught him a lot of necessary skills, and was doing the same now with Hoss and Joe. When he asked his pa why, the older man told him how Dusty had lost his own family in an Indian raid when he was young, and had adopted the three of them in an attempt to fill the hole. He was a tough old cowpoke, soft of voice and loud of opinion; as ancient as the desert and spry as a kid. Dusty both loved and hated fiercely. Adam shifted his gaze to the older man, noting how his pale eyes narrowed as he spoke, as if he were looking into the sun even though it was night. The wrangler always wore a hat. In fact, the young man wasn’t sure he could remember ever seeing the older man without one. It was rounded on the edges and faded, but still deep blue in places. His guess was that Dusty had been in the army once upon a time, even though the older man denied it. Beneath the shadow cast by the hat’s brim were a pair of lips stretched thin as a needle standing up. To look at him you’d think Dusty never smiled, but he did. Not with those lips but with his eyes.  
They never shown as bright as when he was pulling someone’s leg.  
Adam’s gaze returned to his ten and fifteen-year-old brothers.  
Make that ‘two’ someone’s legs.  
“You mean you actually seen them little people, Dusty?” Hoss asked, wide-eyed. “You really seen the Nunnupi?”  
The wrangler nodded solemnly. “I seen them little people and that ghost horse they ride. The Comanche call that big old stallion Mua-puuku. He’s got other names, Paiute and Apache, but they all mean the same thing.”  
Hoss’ lips formed the word. Mua-puuku.  
Moon horse.  
“What’s he look like?” Little Joe asked. “Is he big and black and scary?”  
“He’s big all right, but he ain’t black.” Dusty snorted. “Fact is, he’s just about pale as the moon.”  
His young brother looked up. It was one of those nights when the moon was bloated as the belly of a grizzly after a sumptuous meal. The argent orb hung in the sky just above the trees and seemed close enough to touch.  
“So, he’s white?” Hoss asked.  
Dusty narrowed one eye even further. “You see any white on that there ball?”  
“Everyone says the moon is white,” Little Joe insisted as he lowered his head.  
“Says so don’t mean ‘is’,” Dusty drawled. “That there moon has got a lot of faces. Some nights she’s gold as mornin’ mist. Them’s the nights she smiles and a man looks to her to guide him home.” The wrangler dropped his voice and leaned in. “Other time’s, she’s frownin’. It’s then she goes all over ivory as bones and gray as a dead man’s skin peelin’ off ‘em. “ He winked at his captive audience. “That there is the night to avoid her. Mua-puuku’s the same. He changes color ‘cause he don’t want to be seen. Them little people, they braid his mane and tale and hide in the knots.” Dusty stretched out to full length. “The Nunnupi ain’t particular fond of people either.”  
Hoss was looking skeptical. He was, after all, nearly sixteen.  
Still, he was Hoss.  
“I thought you said them Nunnu people was around two feet tall?”  
“Sometimes, boy, sometimes.”  
“You mean they can change size like their ghost horse changes color?” Little Joe asked, his voice squeaking up at least a half-octave.  
Dusty nodded solemnly. “Sure can, boy. The wild people, that’s what the Comanche call them, can be small as they want. They gotta be to fit into tree holes and rabbit warrens and such. Fact is, they look a lot like rabbits. Every one of them is hairy from his head to his toe.”  
“That can’t be right,” Little Joe countered. “Girls ain’t hairy. They gotta have girls to have boys.”  
As Adam pondered just where his ten-year-old brother had picked up that information, Dusty went on. “I gotta admit, Little Joe, I ain’t never seen one of their wimmen, so I guess I cain’t say for sure.”  
“Why do they go in rabbit warrens?” Hoss asked.  
“To hide. Like I said, they don’t like humans much. ‘Specially little boys.”  
Here it came.  
“How come?” Little Joe asked.  
Dusty puffed out a breath that showed as a cloud on the crisp night air. He eyed each of his brothers in turn – settling at last on Joe. “Stands to reason. Little boys don’t do what their elders tell ‘em too.”  
Joe swallowed hard. “So they run away when they see them?”  
The wrangler shook his head. “The Nunnupi got these little arrows, see? They look like the thorns on a wolfberry bush. They got little bows too, made of pine branches, and they use them to shoot the arrows. If a naughty little boy takes one of them arrows, why, he ain’t got a chance.”  
“Do they kill’ em?” Hoss asked.  
“Nah. We’d call it kidnappin’. They put ‘em up on that ghost horse of theirs and take ‘em away.” The wrangler’s lips curled slightly. “They keep little boys down in their hidey holes ‘til they’re grown up or have learned their manners.”  
Hoss was looking more and more skeptical, but Little Joe had bought Dusty’s tall tale hook, line, and sinker. In fact, he’d spent the last minute or two examining his brown jacket for thorns and appeared to be immensely relieved when he didn’t find any.  
“So, if they put them in the earth…. Is that like burying them in a coffin?” Joe asked.  
Dusty thought a moment. “I guess you could say so.”  
Little Joe paled. “Do they take good little boys too?”  
“Nary a one,” the cowpoke replied. “Them little people know mas and pas need good young’uns to help them. Any good young’un can lay his head down at night in the forest and fall asleep knowin’ he’s safe.”  
His youngest brother seemed to think that over. “Dusty? “  
“What is it, boy?”  
“Do you think I’m good?”  
The wrangler frowned. “I’m afraid not, son.”  
Adam blinked. What?  
Good Lord! He hated to think of the nightmares to come!  
Dusty held his scowl a second longer and then one of his rare smiles appeared. He caught Joe about the shoulders and drew him into an embrace.  
“You ain’t good, Little Joe,” the old cowpoke said as he rustled the youngster’s hair. “You’re the best!”

He had to pee.  
He really had to pee.  
Little Joe shifted from side to side in his bedding as he considered the whispering sea of black that surrounded him and just what it might hold. He could hold it. He knew he could. It wasn’t that long until morning. Joe’s gaze flicked to the sky. Two…maybe three hours at most. He’d had to hold it longer than that in school since he didn’t want to admit to Miss Jones that he needed to go. Pa’d scolded him once and told him that talking about that kind of thing in front of a lady was ‘ungentlemanly’. Ladies never admitted they had to pee. They always said ‘I’m going to visit the lilies’ or some such thing. Some of them even planted lilies around their outhouses so they could say that and not be tellin’ a lie! He didn’t know about Miss Jones, of course. She never went to the privy. She said she had a ‘water closet’ in her house and wouldn’t use anything else, though how you could keep water in a closet when you had to open and close the door all the time, he couldn’t figure out.  
Joe crossed his legs and concentrated. He could hold it. He could….  
No, he couldn’t!  
Quietly, so as not to wake up his brothers or Dusty, Joe crawled out from under his blanket and walked over to the trees. He was just about to enter the dark space beneath them when Dusty’s story about the Noonoo-pee and that ghost horse, Muu-ha-poo-koo, came back to him. After the wrangler gave him that big old hug, he’d told him and Hoss that he was just funnin’ with them on account of it was almost All Hallows Eve. Dusty said there wasn’t no such thing as the Comanche’s little people or their big white ghost horse. The old cowpoke said he’d told the same story to Adam when he was little just to make him behave. Adam had nodded his head and said it was true before he rolled over and went to sleep.  
Joe eyed the creaking, groaning trees.  
Still….  
The little boy looked back toward their camp. Everybody was asleep except him. He could just drop his britches and pee right where he was. Still, that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of him, would it? Did you have to be a ‘gentleman’ with other fellers, he wondered? Seemed like you did ‘cause all of Pa’s ranch hands and his brothers always stepped into the trees. The outhouse was, after all, called a ‘privy’ on account of it was something you were supposed to do in ‘private’.  
Sometimes grown-ups confused him. Wasn’t one man looked any different from another without his britches on, but it seemed there was something about what a man looked like that he needed to keep to himself.  
Things like that made his head hurt.  
Anyhow, he still had to pee.  
As he pulled his upper lip between his teeth, Joe placed his feet firmly on the ground and eyed the trees once more. He’d seen his pa do that when he was facin’ down an ornery bull or stallion. If there were any of those Nunnu people in there waitin’ to take him, he had to show them that he wasn’t afraid. They would have heard Dusty say he was the ‘best’ and then seen Hoss and Adam ruffle his hair and tell him he was a ‘good boy’ and didn’t need to worry about being kidnapped. Neither one of them added ‘when you want to’ or ‘most of the time’, so even though he knew they both thought that, the little people wouldn’t have no way of knowing. He’d gone right to bed without complaining and even said his prayers, so he should be safe for the minute it took to drop his drawers.  
After all, what could happen in a minute?

Something woke him. He couldn’t say what, but Adam Cartwright’s eyes shot open and he found himself staring at the moon’s pallid face where it shown through the trees on the western horizon. The sun was just cresting behind him and their combined light transformed the forest into something unearthly and almost terrifying in its beauty. A sparkling dew lay on the land, coating the underbrush as well as each blade of grass. Ice like diamonds encrusted the wrist and forearm of every branch. In the light of such wonder, he could almost believe the fantastic tale Dusty had woven the night before of the Comanche’s little people and their ghost horse and the dreadful fate awaiting naughty little boys.  
Adam closed his eyes as he drew in a breath of crisp air. It was cold, but not so cold the breath came out as a cloud, so it was warming up – which was a good thing since Pa would skin him alive should either Hoss or Little Joe come down with the slightest sniffle. Still, the young man knew that his father would understand why he’d brought his young brothers into the forest. Not only was it All Hallow Eve, but it was Little Joe’s birthday and spending the night in the woods had been one way of giving the little boy a present. After breakfast they’d spend the day hunting, or maybe go explore some of the river caves. On his request Hop Sing had made a dozen cup cakes with a candle each for ten of them. He’d brought them along so they could celebrate. The cakes would be a bit worse for wear since they’d made the trip in his saddlebags, but Joe would understand. After all, it was the thought that counted.  
And they’d taste just as good squashed!  
The young man yawned and stretched his long arms toward the sky, and then worked his way into a seated position. It was early and Hoss and Dusty were still sawing logs. They’d pitched their bedding on the far side of the fire away from him and Joe, which was a blessing. Adam noted as he rose that Little Joe’s bed was empty, so he figured the youngster had gone to relieve himself. He thought nothing more of it as he set about adding logs to the fire and putting a pot of coffee on to boil. In fact, Joe having gone to take a leak was such a natural thing the young man didn’t give it another thought until he realized that the moon had vanished and the sun’s light was painting the tips of the mountains red.  
With his coffee cup in hand, the young man crossed to his brother’s bed and examined the ground. Joe’s tracks were clear. They led, as he had suspected, toward the tree-line that circled the clearing they’d pitched their camp in. With a glance at Dusty and Hoss, who were still snoring away, Adam took off in pursuit of his missing brother. When he reached the trees he read the sign again. Joe had paused here, most likely contemplating the forest’s Stygian blackness before he entered it. Could the little boy have gotten turned around in that blackness, he wondered? Maybe it was so dark Joe had headed in the wrong direction.  
Adam put his cup down before heading into the trees. Ten feet in he put a hand to his mouth and called, “Little Joe? If you can hear me, answer me. Joe?” A few heartbeats later he tried again. “Joe? Where are you? Come on, Joe. Answer me!”  
Nothing. There was…nothing.  
The young man masked his fear in anger. The kid was playing games. That was it. Knowing Little Joe, he probably felt it was safe to be ‘naughty’ now that the sun was up. The kid wasn’t above pulling a stunt like this if he thought it would get him attention.  
“Little Joe! You better answer me and answer me now!” Adam drew a breath and waited. “Joe, I’m giving you ten seconds. If you don’t show by then, you’re going to be in big trouble.” He started to count. Out loud. “Ten. Nine. Eight…three, two…”  
Just as the count and his patience ran out, he heard it. Not his baby brother, but something else. It sounded like a horse, but not just any horse, and began as a blow or a snort that turned into a bold confident neigh. The cry echoed eerily through the forest, resonating from one ice-covered tree to the next, before ending just as quickly as it had begun. When it did, there was a flash. A beam of sunlight sparked on tall jumble of icy rocks and revealed a sixteen-hand stallion with a dappled coat, ivory and gray as the moon. He had to squint against the light to see it. There was something on its back.  
A small still form, whose fingers were entwined in the Appaloosa’s braided mane.  
For a moment Adam was as frozen as the landscape that surrounded him. Then he began to run.  
“Joe!”

  
TWO

Adam gasped as the earth shook beneath him. The frigid air stung his lungs as he drew it in and called out frantically, “Joe! Little Joe!”  
The trembling intensified until it rattled his teeth. Then, there was a sound.  
Something….  
Someone’s voice.  
“…here. I’m…here. Adam! Wake up! You’re scaring me!”  
He blinked to clear his vision. It took several attempts before the skinny form leaning over him came into focus. When he realized who it was, the young man shot up and out of his rumpled bedding and clasped the little boy to his chest.  
“Joe! Thank God! I thought….”  
“You ain’t…thinkin’, older brother. You need to let me…go! A feller needs to…to breathe after all!”  
Adam closed his eyes, drew several breaths, and then looked again. It was his little brother in his arms – whole and hearty and, if the truth be known, rather irate. His bewilderment deepened as his gaze shot past the little boy. Hoss was kneeling by the fire, his face turned their way. Dusty was nowhere to be seen.  
Relief flooded through him.  
It had been a nightmare. Nothing more.  
“And here I thought I was the only one had bad dreams,” Little Joe remarked as he tried to squirm free. “You must have had a whopper!”  
“I guess I did,” he admitted. “Quite a whopper!”  
“You want to talk about it?”  
Joe’s lips were twisted with a wry smile. That question, of course, was the one the three of them always asked him upon waking from a night terror. He answered with the same lie. “I really can’t remember it, little buddy.”  
The look his brother favored him with was way too wise for a decade-old kid. “Yeah. I know.” Joe frowned. “You gonna let me go now?”  
He hadn’t released his grip. He’d been so sure Joe had been taken by Dusty’s mysterious little people and their ghost horse and carried off to God-alone-knew where that he was afraid to.  
“You okay?” It was Hoss who asked this time. He’d finished with the fire and come to stand beside them.  
“Yeah. Just a little shaky,” he answered as he surrendered his hold on the little boy and rose to his feet. “You got any coffee brewing?”  
Middle brother beamed. “First thing I did, just like Pa taught us. Fact is, Ol’ Dusty’s already had a cup.”  
“Where is he anyway?” the young man asked as they headed for the fire.  
“Checking the woods.” Hoss threw a glance Joe’s way – one little brother didn’t see. “You know how it is with old people. He thought he heard somethin’.”  
Adam nodded. He did indeed know ‘how it was’. Both Dusty and their pa were mother hens and always overly-cautious when it came to their chicks.  
Even when one ‘chick’ was twenty-two and a man.  
“I got some grub on too,” Hoss said, again indicating Joe. “I fixed somethin’ right special for breakfast this mornin’.”  
For a moment Adam was at a loss and then he remembered what fear had driven out of his head.  
It was Joe’s birthday.  
“Sounds great,” the young man replied as he headed for the trees. “I’m so hungry I could eat a folded tarp! Let me take care of ‘business’ first and then I’ll join the two of you.”  
Ten minutes later all of them – including Dusty – were seated by the fire enjoying the fine birthday breakfast Hop Sing had prepared and sent along. It consisted of Blueberry pancakes with syrup and hashed up potatoes with ham. When they were finished, Adam pulled out the twelve birthday cakes with their ten candles and presented them to his baby brother. They used a branch to light the candles and sang the Happy Birthday song, and then watched as Little Joe blew them out. The kid had so much lung power he did it in one fell swoop! After that, they broke camp and spent the day hunting and exploring before heading home.  
The only thing missing was Pa.

Adam blinked and rubbed the sleep from his eyes before sitting up in his four poster bed. The four of them had returned to the Ponderosa late and, after bidding Dusty a ‘good night’, he, Hoss and Little Joe had fallen into their beds. He glanced at the clock on his desk and noted All Hallows Eve had come and gone and it was now All Saints Day.  
Barely.  
The exhausted young man tossed his covers aside, placed his bare feet on the floor, and used his toes to search for his slippers in the dark. As he did, he chided himself for being put out. Just the night before he’d experienced a nightmare that had left him completely out of sorts. He was actually surprised it had taken Little Joe this long to internalize Dusty’s chilling tale. Just as his big toe encountered his slipper, a second scream pierced the night.  
The door to his room opened, revealing a tousled head of wispy red-brown hair. “You want me to get it this time?” Hoss asked as he yawned.  
“No,” he replied as he reached for his robe. “You go back to bed. I owe the kid one.”  
Middle brother laughed. “I guess you do at that. Just holler if you need me.”  
“I will.”  
Their little brother’s nightmares had been a weekly, if not daily, ritual since his mother had been killed. The matter varied with whatever was going on in their lives. Still, there had been one constant since before he went to college – a fear of horses. It was funny too since Little Joe adored the animals and was about as natural a horseman as he’d ever seen. Much to Pa’s chagrin, the kid knew no fear where they were concerned during daylight hours. At night, deep in Morpheus’ grip, it was another story. There, the powerful creatures became something else entirely.  
Third scream. Time to go.  
It took seconds to reach his brother’s room at the end of the hall. The young man blinked back fatigue and shoved an unruly lock of hair out of his eyes before taking hold of the latch and pushing the door in. His gaze went to his young brother’s bedstead, where he expected to find the usual torrent of covers and, in the middle of the linen storm, Little Joe’s skinny form.  
It was empty.  
Fear gripped him for a second. It was stilled by the sound of rapid breathing. His little brother was standing in front of his window, which was open. Joe was dressed in his night shirt. He had no robe on. No slippers on his feet. The little boy’s rampant curls were dancing in the icy wind.  
Adam wasn’t as irate as their father would have been, but he wondered what the kid was thinking.  
“Little Joe. Get away from that window. You’ll catch your death!”  
He did, however, sound like Pa.  
Egad.  
The young man crossed the room and stood directly in front of his brother. The little boy’s eyes were open but he didn’t seem to see him. Adam reached for his arm, but stopped when he recalled something one of his college classmates had told him. Alexander was a sleepwalker. His friend explained to him how his parents had at first been frightened, but come to take in stride the fact that they would find him in the parlor playing the piano at three in the morning or practicing his dancing skills at four.  
Was that what Little Joe was doing? Sleepwalking?  
Adam chewed his lip and then asked, quietly, “Little Joe? Can you hear me?”  
Joe didn’t reply. Instead he turned back to the window and gazed out. Almost instantly his chest began to rise and fall rapidly once more as if he had taken a great fright.  
There was, of course, nothing there.  
“Little Joe,” he said, a little bit louder. “You need to wake up. Joe?”  
This time his brother whirled around to face him. Joe’s emerald-green eyes were wide as the silver chargers under Pa’s transferware platters. Joe’s lips formed his name and then – he fell into his arms.  
Adam knelt so he could hold the little boy better. He placed a hand on his curls and make shushing noises like their pa did.  
“It’s okay, little buddy. You’re safe. I’m here.”  
They had a special relationship – or at least they’d had one before he went to college. When Joe’s mother died, their pa lost his way for a time. It had been up to him to care for his brothers, and especially for Little Joe who was only four-years-old when Marie passed. Hoss was only ten and so, when Joe needed someone to be there for him at times like this, it was both his delight and his burden to be the one. Back then he’d been Little Joe’s pa in more ways than he was his brother.  
He supposed he still was.  
Joe threw his arms around his neck. His brother’s tears wet the shoulder of his robe. He drew him in closer since the kid’s skinny frame was shaking like an autumn leaf caught in a gale-force wind.  
“Hey, buddy, we need to get your robe on or get you back under the covers,” he suggested. “Pa will have my head if you take a chill, and Hop Sing will keep you in bed for a month. You don’t want that, do you?”  
Joe murmured something, but he didn’t move.  
“What was that, buddy?”  
The words were so soft he barely caught them. “Keep your…voice down,” Joe breather. “It’s…out there.”  
Adam frowned. “What’s out there?”  
His brother sucked in a breath as his head turned toward the window. “The ghost horse. It…it came to get me.”  
The young man resisted rolling his eyes.  
When he got his hands on Dusty….  
Calmly, he said, “Little Joe, you know there’s no such thing. Ol’ Dusty was just trying to scare you and Hoss.”  
“There is too such a thing!” Joe proclaimed with a little of his normal fire. “I saw it!!”  
“Okay. Okay. Let’s talk about it. In bed.” He was concerned. His brother was shivering fiercely. “Okay?”  
“Only if you come with me.”  
Adam smiled. He’d done that before too. “Sure. And I’ll stay until you fall asleep. How’s that?”  
Joe thrust his lower lip out. “I won’t ever fall asleep again. If I do, it will come to get me.”  
He didn’t say anything, but instead swept the little boy up and into his arms and deposited him on the bed. After he’d drawn Joe’s blankets up to his chin, Adam settled in beside him.  
For several heartbeats the room was silent, then he said, “Tell me about it.”  
Joe peered over the edge of the blanket. “I was real tired, Adam, just like you and Hoss. I fell asleep right away.” He looked at the window. “It woke me up.”  
“The horse?”  
Joe nodded. “The sound was quiet to start with, you know, like it was blowin’ air out of its nose. Then it got loud. It sounded like one of the stallions when he’s with his brood mares.”  
Adam tensed. This was too close.  
“What happened next?”  
“I got out of bed and went to the window and opened it.” Joe scowled. “Don’t tell Pa?”  
He crossed his heart quickly. “Promise.”  
Baby brother smiled for the first time. It was a little smile, but it was a beginning.  
“That ghost horse was right out there, Adam.” His brother’s look was one of wonder mixed with terror. “He was so big – bigger than Chubb – and so pretty; all dappled like snow when the sun comes through the trees.”  
“Like an appaloosa?” he asked over his unease.  
“Uh huh. He just stood there lookin’ up, like he knew I was here. Then he started strikin’ the ground with his hooves. You know how they do that when they want you to come? ” Joe drew closer to him as he finished. “I…wanted to go with him. He was so beautiful.”  
Adam’s scientific mind rejected the possibility that there was any validity to his brother’s claims – but his brother’s heart felt differently. It was afraid.  
Truly afraid.  
“How come you didn’t go?”  
“I remembered Ol’ Dusty’s story.”  
“So…you thought the horse would take you away?”  
Joe twisted toward him. The look on his face was beyond price. “Well, I’d have been a naughty boy if I climbed out of that window, wouldn’t I?” he asked with all the logic of a ten-year-old.  
Adam hid his smile. “I suppose you would have at that.”  
His little brother let out a long sigh. “I ain’t goin’ back to sleep, Adam. Ever.”  
“I’m not,” he corrected.  
“I don’t blame you,” Little Joe said with a yawn. “Who’d want…to go to sleep with that old….” Another yawn. “…ghost horse out there?”  
And another one.  
Adam coughed to hide his laughter. “You’re right. I know I sure can’t sleep knowing he is. How about I sit here beside you and keep guard? That way at least one of us can get some rest.”  
Joe looked over his shoulder at him. His eyes were barely open.  
“Okay. And Adam….”  
“Yes?”  
“You better have Hop Sing make you somethin’ for that cough, older brother. Pa will..skin you…if you catch….”  
He was out.  
Adam stayed where he was for a full ten minutes. Then he shifted off the bed and crossed to the window and closed it tight. After that he pushed the curtains aside and peered out. The yard was as empty as he expected, but there was something…something out there that put his teeth on edge. So much so that he went downstairs, threw his coat and boots on, and walked the perimeter of the house before dragging his sorry hide back to his own bed.  
As the young man’s eyes closed in sleep, he was forced to admit that it had been his imagination.  
Which, apparently, was as vivid as his decade-old brother’s.

THREE

It was November third and Little Joe Cartwright was happy. Their Pa said he’d be gone four or five days and today was number five! He didn’t like it when his pa was gone. He couldn’t explain it, but he was just sure when Pa was out of his sight that something bad was gonna happen to him – like his horse was gonna throw him, or bad men would try to rob him, or he’d get sick or…die. Everybody told him it didn’t matter whether he was looking or not, that if God wanted somethin’ to happen then it was gonna happen. Everybody being Hoss and Adam. He didn’t tell Hop Sing about being afraid ‘cause he knew Hop Sing would tell his pa and he didn’t want his pa to know because it would keep him from doing what he had to do.  
Still, he didn’t like his pa being out of his sight.  
“Hey, Little Joe! How’s it goin’?”  
Joe grinned as he released his hold on the corral fence and turned to look at his brother. “Hey, Hoss. It’s goin’ just fine!”  
“You watchin’ the horses?” his brother asked as he came alongside him.  
“Sure am. That big black one Adam brought in the other day is a beauty.” He’d been afraid of big black horses once upon a time on account of the fact that one of them had killed his mama. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Adam told him how mama had loved big black horses and that she wouldn’t want him to be afraid – so he wasn’t.  
Of black horses, that was.  
“He sure is.” Hoss frowned. “You stay away from him, you hear? He’d too big for you. Don’t go doin’ anythin’ you shouldn’t.”  
“I’ll be good.” Joe scowled and then after a pause, added, “You know, it just ain’t fair.”  
“What ain’t fair?”  
He threw his hands in the air. “You don’t have to be good. You’re too big for them Nunnu people to haul away.” Joe’s lips quirked as he continued. “I bet if those little people tried to carry you off, they’d all fall down and die of pros-peration.”  
Hoss glared at him and then let out a big old burst of air worthy of a cow with colic. Joe tried, but couldn’t avoid the bear hug that followed. His brother lifted him in the air, squeezed him hard, and then put him down. After that he stood there staring at him.  
“What are you looking at?” he asked at last.  
Middle brother sighed. “That tall tale Ol’ Dusty’s told has still got you scared, don’t it?”  
Joe crossed his arms over his blue shirt. “I ain’t scared of nothin’!”  
His brother eyed the black stallion who was rearing in the air and pounding the packed earth with his hooves.  
“Little Joe, you listen to me, boy. There’s some things worth bein’ scared of. It just ain’t a bunch of funny little people and their spooky ol’ ghost horse.”  
“You sure looked scared when Dusty was talking.”  
Hoss started to say something, but then thought better of it. “You, know, Little Joe, I gotta be honest. I sure was scared. That old Dusty spins a yarn better than a widder at a wheel.” Middle brother let out a sigh. “I guess I got caught up in it on account of it being All Hallows Eve and all.”  
“Yeah, me too.”  
His brother reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. “But we know it ain’t real, right?”  
Joe nodded. “Right.”  
Hoss stared at him a moment longer before lifting his hand – which he promptly used to rifle his curls. “Well, that’s it, then! Now, I gotta get goin’. I got me some work to do to get that old wagon out back of the barn rollin’ again. What’re you up to today?”  
The little boy grinned. “Hop Sing wants me to go hunting for penny buns.”  
“Um, mm! Mushrooms for supper. You done made my day, little brother.” Hoss poked a finger into his chest. “You just make sure you find enough for everyone – and then find some more so’s you all can have a few too!”  
Hoss was the biggest man Joe knew, and he just knew his big brother had to have the biggest stomach anyone had ever had, on account of he had the biggest heart.  
“You can count on me, Hoss!”  
“And little brother….”  
“I know,” he said with a sigh. “Be careful.”  
Joe had to make his way past Adam, who was in the house working on the books, and Hop Sing – on account of he had to get the baskets from the Asian man – as well as Dusty and Dan Tollivar, before he could get on his way. All of them said the same thing that Hoss said using different words – ‘Watch yourself, Little Joe. Don’t take any chances, boy! You be good, son.”  
Lands sake alive! By the time he got out of the yard he was so full of words he just knew he wouldn’t have any room left for the penny buns!  
It took about an hour to walk the distance between the house and the end of the pasture and reach the tree-line. They had trees everywhere since his pa had bought a hundred square acres or so of timberland to add to all the other land they owned where their cattle grazed. Pa was gonna raise trees now too and then sell them off to the railroad when it came through. Pa was like that. He was always looking ahead just like Adam. Hoss was more like him, though he was better at thinkin’ things through before doing them.  
Pa said he was no bigger than a minute and he liked to live in one just like his mama.  
Joe let out a sigh as he swung the pair of baskets he carried in his hands. He sure missed her. Sometimes it seemed like it was only yesterday he’d turned five. He was twice as old now and thinking about his mama made him twice as sad. He guessed that was because he was older and understood more about grown-up things. When he was little, he was sure she was coming back. Pa told him mama died and went to Heaven, but he thought it was just for a visit. He’d sit up in bed waiting and, when she didn’t show, tell himself she was busy doing something important – like telling Jesus how to arrange the furniture just like she used to do with Pa. That was, until the days of waiting turned into months, and then the months turned into years and he realized she was never coming back.  
That was when he understood what ‘dead’ meant.  
That word scared him. It haunted him just as sure as that old ghost horse did his dreams. He was sure somebody – everybody he loved was going to die; that when they went away, they would never come back. It didn’t matter that he’d watched his pa come and go a million times, or that Adam had left for four whole years and returned. He was sure every day Adam was gone that he was dead. After all, grown-ups lied to little kids. Someone else could have been sendin’ those letters. Yep, he was positive Pa was telling him Adam was okay when he wasn’t. Joe stopped to swipe a finger under his nose. He supposed, during those four years, that he had let Adam go just like he’d had to let go of his mama. Maybe that was the reason he’d had a hard time believing that the tall man who’d stepped off that stage around a year back was actually his long lost and beloved brother.  
It hurt to think of getting close to Adam again – just in case he left again.  
The corner of Joe’s lips turned up. Older brother better watch out. He’d been a naughty boy when he chose to go to college back East and leave him. Maybe Dusty’s little people and their ghost horse were gonna carry him away.  
Joe scowled.  
Best not to think about that.  
“Come on, Joe,” the little boy said out-loud as he eyed the shadowy trees before him. “You need to do what big brother says and screw your courage to whatever the heck a ‘sticking point’ is, and get in there and find those mushrooms!”  
Thinking of Adam and the funny things he said made Joe laugh, and so it was with a light heart that the little boy stepped into the trees. He whistled as he went from place to place filling his baskets with mushrooms. In fact, he was so intent on his mission – finding enough penny buns to fill up Hoss – that he failed to note the time. Joe only became aware of the sun setting as its coppery beams swept sideways through the openings between the trees, casting black and red bars on the ground. It was November now, so the sun was goin’ to bed early, which meant it was probably four or five in the afternoon. Hop Sing would skin him alive if he didn’t get the mushrooms home in time to fix them for supper! Little Joe shivered, his fear of the mythical little people and their ghost horse paling in the light of that sure and certain threat. A second later he headed for the pasture.  
Only to stop when he heard a sound.  
The sun was low on the horizon. Its light was near blood-red now and seemed to set the forest on fire. Mesmerized, Joe took a step toward it – only to reel back as the mighty appaloosa he had seen from his bedroom window appeared on a ridge above him. The little boy stared at it, mouth agape, as it began to descend. Then, he saw there was something behind it.  
Someone behind it.  
The man’s face was the color of moonstruck snow. The hair that surrounded it, wild and tangled as the brush at his feet. The sun’s dying rays made it hard to see, but Joe was sure the stranger wasn’t wearing clothes, but was instead covered from head to toe with fur. Terror gripped the little boy and rooted him to the spot as the stranger moved past the horse and came to stand at his side.  
Dusty almost got it right. The Nunnu and their ghost horse were real.  
But ‘little people’ didn’t exactly begin to describe them…. 

“Mistah Adam?”  
The young man tossed his pencil to the desk top and leaned back. He’d had his head buried in books all day. In fact, if there was a book in his father’s study that wasn’t on the desk, it was probably laying on the floor near his feet. His pa was an amazing businessman, but when it came to numbers…. The young man grimaced.  
Pa needed some time with his math professor.  
“Mistah Adam?!”  
He was so buried, in fact, that it took two times before Hop Sing’s voice penetrated the six feet of fatigue over his head – strident as it was.  
“Er, sorry. What is it?”  
“Mistah Adam see Little Joe?”  
The young man glanced at the empty great room before realizing Hop Sing was asking if he knew where his brother was. When had he last seen Joe? “No, I haven’t seen Joe in a while. I think he was going….” He thought a moment. “Mushroom hunting?”  
Hop Sing glanced at the window. “Boy have head in clouds. Mushrooms go to sleep before he find them.”  
Adam followed their cook’s gaze. The sun was definitely setting.  
“Joe’s not back yet?”  
“Boy come home, cook him instead of mushrooms! No boy. No mushrooms!”  
“No boy?” Adam rose from his father’s chair. A quick trip to the door and a look outside caused the rising panic to reach his throat. “Little Joe’s not…home?”  
Hop Sing rolled his eyes. “You sure college not make head thick?”  
There were times.  
“Good Lord! Joe should have been home hours ago. I assumed….” Adam stopped. He knew what assuming did! “I guess I thought he was with Hoss.”  
“Mister Hoss go to town, get parts, fix wagon.”  
“Why didn’t you come to me before this?” the young man asked as he reached for his coat.  
The Asian man was indignant. “Hop Sing not nursemaid. Boy not tied to apron strings. You want supper, he need cook! No time keep watch Little Joe.”  
Adam held up a hand. “All right. Sorry.” The Asian man was right, Little Joe wasn’t Hop Sing’s responsibility when Pa was gone.  
He was his.  
“Okay. I’ll go look for him. Knowing Joe, he forgot to watch the time. I bet he’s on his way home now.” Adam was halfway out the door before he had a thought. Turning back, he asked, “Do you know just where he went looking?”  
“Back pasture, at edge of trees.”  
“Thanks, Hop Sing. I’ll find Little Joe and be back faster than a cat with his tail on fire.”  
Their cook shook his head as he walked away. “No hurry,” he muttered. “No fix penny buns tonight!”

Both night and the temperature fell as the young man traveled the mile between the house and the tree-line that bordered the pasture. The moon was up. It was just past full and its distended face cast an eerie light over the land. As before, the ground he walked was transformed into a path of diamonds and the softly sussurating trees shone like silver. It had grown cold enough he could see his breath and it rose like a mist, at times obscuring his view. Another hour and it would be dangerously so.  
What in the world was Little Joe thinking?  
Adam halted in his tracks. He hesitated, and then and gave himself a good pinch. When he yelped, he counted it as a good sign that he was awake.  
He’d brought a lantern just in case. Upon entering the forest he opened the shutter, adding its hellish glow to the fairy-land he wandered. It was doubtful he’d be able to spot any of his little brother’s tracks, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him trying. He was counting on the fact that Joe had no reason to be cautious. He hoped at least a few of his brother’s boot prints would be obvious.  
That hope was realized when he came to a small clearing.  
All too well realized.  
Adam sucked in both air and fear as he knelt. His brother’s foot-prints were there, first, wandering from place to place, and then backing up. The baskets Joe carried lay on the ground; their precious contents spilled out and crushed underfoot. These signs were worrisome, but they paled in comparison to the other one that lay within reach of the lantern’s beams.  
The tracks of a horse and a man.  
The young man took in several breaths to still his pounding heart. He needed to think this through. The tracks didn’t have to mean trouble. A neighbor might have come across Little Joe alone, in the dark, and offered to take him home. Adam glanced at the signs again. That worked, except the tracks led in the wrong direction, away from the Ponderosa. Of course, their neighbor might have thought it too late and taken Joe to their home instead, counting on a bit of fun when they showed up with him in the morning to their father’s chagrin and relief. There was only one problem with both those theories. Whoever had taken Little Joe wasn’t wearing a white man’s boots.  
They looked more like swamp moccasins.  
Adam reached out to brace himself against a tree. His mind was reeling. What would an Indian be doing here, on the Ponderosa – and why would they take Joe? It was almost easier to believe it had been Dusty’s little people who had done the deed. If it was an Indian, did they mean to help Joe? Or had they taken him in place of one of their own? Or….  
Adam went pale as the moon.  
He’d always dismissed it as a rumor, or maybe even myth. When he was a boy he’d heard stories from the ranch hands about a lone warrior who wandered their land. No one had talked to him. No one could come near. When they tried, it was said the Indian up and vanished in a puff of smoke. He was usually seen around sunset, as if he was drawn to the time of night when the veil between the real and spirit worlds was at its thinnest. Dusty, whose superstitious nature was legend, said he’d caught a glimpse of the ghost warrior once-upon-a-time. He said the man was neither old nor young, and that he rode a dappled horse, pale as the moon. The men told him the Indian had lost a son to the white man in a raid, and that he’d remained behind after death seeking to take revenge on those men by stealing their sons.  
Moon Horse, that was what the ranch hands called him.  
Of course, he didn’t for one minute believe the man was a ghost. Still, on the nearly 600 acres of land his father now owned, it would be easy for a native to live and go unnoticed. Since they’d come to the Ponderosa, there’d been a half-dozen boys lost in the forest who had never been found. He’d put it down to the savage nature of the West. But was it? Adam pushed off the tree and ran a trembling hand along the back of his neck before returning his gaze to the tracks. Could that be this Indian?  
Could Moon Horse had been driven to murder by grief?  
The young man picked the lantern up with one hand and palmed the baskets his little brother had dropped with the other. The baskets were the one tangible link he had to Little Joe. Adam turned toward the house, thinking he should go back and recruit some of the hands. But no. If he did, he would lose the trail. Besides, when he failed to turn up for supper Hop Sing would send out a search party to look for both of them.  
Wouldn’t he?

FOUR

Ben Cartwright’s stentorian voice rang off the rafters of his ranch house great room. “Adam! Hoss! Little Joe? Jumping Jehoshaphat! Where is everyone?! Hop Sing?!!”  
The house was quiet – far too quiet for a home that held three rambunctious boys and one very vocal Asian cook. He’d arrived home only a moment before and had been looking forward to seeing his sons – especially Joseph. He’d bought the boy a fine new saddle for his tenth birthday and was eagerly anticipating his reaction.  
Hands on hips and a scowl on his face, he tried again. “Adam?! Hoss?!”  
“So sorry, Mistah Ben. Mistah Adam not home.”  
Ben turned to find Hop Sing exiting the kitchen wing. “Not home?” he demanded. “What do you mean ‘not home’?” It was cold outside. The wind was cutting and heralded a storm. “Where is the boy?”  
His cook looked like he’d had a hammer taken to his toe. “He go look for Little Joe.”  
The rancher tossed his hat on the peg by the door and began to draw off his coat. What had that boy done now? Hopefully nothing he would need to punish him for.  
“And just where is Little Joe?”  
The pained look turned to one of fear. “No one know.”  
“No one….” Ben drew in a breath. “I’m cold, Hop Sing, and hungry. I’m going to get a brandy. Come to the fire with me and tell me what this is all about.”  
The little man bowed. “Hop Sing go get Mistah Cartwright food first.”  
“It can wait. The brandy is enough for now.” His tone softened as he eyed his friend. “Hop Sing, I need to know what’s going on.”  
Five minutes later the rancher was on his feet and headed for the door.  
“Mistah Cartwright not know where to look,” Hops Sing said as he followed him. “Should wait for Mistah Adam.”  
“I’ll start where Adam did, at the edge of the forest!” Ben proclaimed as he placed his hat on his head.  
“If Little Joe there, Mistah Adam find him. Be home by now.”  
The rancher slowly exhaled. Hop Sing was right. He needed to get a handle on both his anger and his fear if he was going to help Adam and Joe. At least Hoss was out of danger. Word had arrived from his middle son that he’d run into Paul Martin and Paul had insisted the fifteen-year-old stay with him and his wife rather than traveling home in inclement weather.  
“You say Dusty and Dan are already looking?” he asked as he reached for his gloves.  
“Yes, Mistah Cartwright. Both take men. Go looking. Mister Dusty search Ponderosa in case boy thinks he in trouble and hides. Mistah Dan go to town to see if boy follow his brother.”  
Twenty miles. It was twenty miles to Virginia City through the frigid cold and pitch-black night.  
Not even Joseph could be that foolish.  
Ben forced a smile. “It sounds as if you have all the bases covered. I still think it’s best to look for Adam. Most likely, when I find him, I’ll find Little Joe.” A blast of frosty air struck him as he opened the door. “I’m sure they’re together. Knowing Adam, he probably found a cave for them to hole up in.”  
“Hop Sing ask ancestors to make it so.”  
The rancher turned toward his cook. He stared at the little man, suddenly struck by how easily he relegated the Asian man to the role of a woman. It was the men who ‘did’, while the women were left behind to wait and worry.  
He’d have to remember to do something about that.  
Ben walked over to his cook and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You do that. And while you’re at it, add a prayer that Joseph wasn’t willful in this. I don’t want his birthday celebration marred by a necessary ‘talking to’.”  
“Hop Sing know better,” his friend said with a weary smile. “Mistah Ben find boy, he not spank him. Even if he bad.”  
He returned the smile as he lifted his hand. “You know me too well, old friend. Now, you keep the home fires burning, you hear? I plan on being back with those two rascals of mine sooner than later!”

The weather had deteriorated badly while he’d been inside. The wind was up and the cold rain had turned to ice. It beat a staccato rhythm on the brim of his hat as he rode his steady mount toward the tree-line. He could only pray that his boys had been wise enough to bundle up before leaving the house.  
Upon reaching the trees, Ben tethered Buck and began to search for sign. It didn’t take him long to find it. His eldest son’s boots had left deep impressions in the icy fog that had settled on the land. Beside them the rancher thought he caught a glimpse of smaller feet, but that could have been wishful thinking. Adam’s tracks led him into the forest and to a small clearing. There were more tracks there – ones that had the power to bring him to his knees. Adam had been here – along with an Indian and what appeared to be an impressive horse.  
Ben knelt. He checked the ground for blood and sent up a quick ‘thank you’ when he found none.  
There were, of course, very few Indians left on his land. Most had been killed or forced onto the reservations. The few who still roamed the Ponderosa made themselves scarce when white men were about. They were, for the most part, harmless, and so he let them be. Sadly – understandably – there were those who refused to accept the grim fate of their tribes. These men believed the land they had been forced off of was still theirs and set about making sure everyone knew it. For the most part they were renegades; angry, violent and usually young men who had little compassion and even less reverence for life. They saw it as their duty to kill anyone who was white, age and sex notwithstanding.  
If Joseph had run into one of these men and been taken, and his brother had gone after him….  
Ben closed his eyes and lowered his head as he whispered a second prayer – this time of petition – before setting off in the direction both his eldest son and the Indian had gone. 

Adam ran a hand through the shock of hair that lay on his forehead, driving ice from both it and his eyes. He paused a moment to catch his breath, and then pushed on. He had to admit he was exhausted. The night was nearly over and he hadn’t slept a wink. The image of his baby brother on the back of that horse had driven all thoughts of rest from his head. He wasn’t sure, but he thought Joe’s hands had been tied. He was pretty sure he was unconscious. That meant the man with the horse had taken him by force.  
The man…or whatever he was.  
He’d only seen the stranger for a second when he stepped into a shaft of moonlight. The funny thing was, he seemed to be covered from head to toe in fur. Just like one of Dusty’s little people. Only he wasn’t little. The Indian was six foot at least.  
Little Joe wouldn’t have stood a chance.  
The young man stopped again, this time to pull the collar of his coat closer around his neck to stave off the biting wind. It was unfortunate the weather had turned. He’d been traveling at a good clip and had almost caught up to Joe and his abductor when his foot hit a patch of black ice on a boulder and he went down. When he woke up, they were nowhere to be seen. It was only when blood got in his eyes that he realized he must have hit his head in the fall and been out for some time.  
Joe and the Indian could be anywhere.  
The tracks were few and far between after that – a hoof-print here, the step of a moccasin boot there – all leading up into the high country. Of his brother there was no sign, but he had to believe Joe was still with the man. No one could be so cruel as to abandon a ten-year-old boy in this weather.  
Could they?  
Adam shivered, both with the fear of that and the cold. He’d grabbed his coat, hat and gloves as he left the house, but it was his work set and not his warm winter ones. He knew Joe had done the same. Neither of them had expected to be out long – or expected a storm to move in. He was more afraid for his brother than himself. Little Joe was strong as an ox – until something got hold of him. When it did, he had a devil of a time throwing it off. The kid had almost been carried off by pneumonia more than once. Pa said the reason baby brother was always shouting was to bolster his weakened lungs.  
He would have given anything to hear Joe shout now.  
The young man steeled him and then continued on, moving face-forward into the driving sleet. He was cold – really cold. His teeth were chattering and his head wound slowing him down. More than once he started to drift off and nearly slipped and fell. He was going to have to stop soon. He’d stuffed a couple of pieces of jerky in his pocket before he left the house, more for Joe than himself, but he was going to have to eat them. He needed sustenance, and rest, and….  
The sound of a horse blowing drove that thought right out of his head.  
Adam looked up and gasped. The appaloosa was just above him on a ridge. The Indian was there too, looking for all the world like a giant version of one of Dusty’s wild little people.  
Adam’s heart plunged to his toes. The horse’s back was empty.  
Where was Joe?

Little Joe trembled from his curly head to his toes. It was cold – so cold he couldn’t sleep. He opened his eyes and wondered what the heck was going on. What had happened to his fire? Had it gone out? Was there a window open?  
A window.  
That was it. He’d opened the window to get a better look at the ghost horse. He thought Adam had closed it, but that must have been a dream.  
Or was the ghost horse the dream?  
The little boy sighed and rolled over, intending to swing his feet over the side of the bed. Instead he smacked right into a wall. He pressed his fingers against it and was surprised when part of the wall crumbled. Joe blinked a couple of times, trying to chase sleep away, and tried again – with the same result. This time his nose came into contact with whatever the crumbly stuff was and he sneezed – and was startled by the echo.  
He must be dreaming.  
There was this way he felt when he work up from a nightmare. Adam called it ‘disorientated’, and said it was kind of like a feller losing his direction. Sometimes he didn’t know where he was or, if he did, it felt unreal…like something out of a fairy tale. It always took him a while to figure it out. Adam taught him to count to twenty and then try again. Joe did that. He counted slowly at first and then real fast, and then wiggled his fingers as he touched the wall. The crumbly stuff fell again. It had a musty scent, kind of like the mushrooms in his basket, or Hop Sing’s garden in the spring….  
Earth. It was…earth.  
Joe began to breathe more quickly. Had he fallen into a gully or ditch or something? Maybe he was in a cave. Maybe that was why it was dark and his nose was pressing up against a wall of dirt. He rolled onto his other side and reached out, only to find the same thing – a wall of dirt. Tentatively, he reached up – and found dirt. He wriggled to the side and felt underneath his britches.  
More dirt.  
Then he remembered.  
He remembered that big old ghost horse looming over him. Behind it was a man covered in fur. Dusty said those Nuunu people were hairy and that they could change size when they wanted to, just like their horse could change color, so he was pretty sure it was one of them even though the man was six foot tall. The wild man said something he couldn’t understand and then lifted a bony hand and pointed with his bony finger. Pa said horses were both smart and dumb. They had the hearts of lions, but could be scared by a pinecone dropping to the ground in front of them. They knew where to go when you told them, but had a mind of their own when they got there.  
Not this one.  
This one came right up to him and took the sleeve of his coat in its teeth.  
“Amocualli Coneti,” the fur man said.  
He’d been right terrified and tried to get away, but the ghost horse wouldn’t let go. The next thing he knew he was up on that horse and the man was leading it through the trees. He wanted to yell for help but he couldn’t make a sound. The horse moved fast. The only way he could stay on its back was to cling to its braided mane. As they traveled, his eyes kept closing. He didn’t remember bein’ hit with one of those wolfberry thorns, but he must have been, ‘cause he fell asleep right up on top of the back of that big ol’ ghost horse.  
And woke up here.  
Maybe it was a rabbit warren like Dusty said. Joe didn’t think it was.  
He thought it was his coffin. 

Ben had come upon his boy unawares. When he found his son, Adam was babbling incoherently about the cold and the night, a hairy Indian, and a ghost horse – and his baby brother. The young man had pressed his body into a crevice, most likely to shield himself from the wind and sleet. The only thing left exposed were his long legs and it was those that nearly tripped him. The boy was hurt. Dried blood covered the left side of Adam’s face and trailed from a cut on his forehead down his neck to blend with the wine fabric of his shirt.  
Little Joe was nowhere to be found.  
It had taken him some time to work the story out of the young man and, when he did, it was almost too fantastic to believe.  
“I’m telling you, Pa, it was just like Dusty and the other ranch hands said,” his rational son sobbed. “One minute the Indian and the horse were there and the next they were gone! They vanished – and took Joe with them!”  
He told him – of course – that from what he’d said the man and his mount were on the ridge above him. Simply stepping back would have made them seem to disappear.  
Adam shot up at that and gripped the collar of his coat. “No, Pa!’ he insisted. “I was looking right at them. They were there, and then they weren’t!”  
He’d checked him for fever. The boy was running a mild one, but not enough to induce hallucinations.  
“I saw Little Joe, Pa. I saw him on that horse’s back and then, he wasn’t there. That wild man left him somewhere between the forest and here.” Adam started to work his way to his feet. “We have to find him before it’s too late!”  
He’d caught the boy’s shoulders in his hands and gently held him down. “That wound has to be seen to, son, before you do anything. You’ll do Little Joe no good if you pass out along the way.”  
It had been all he could do to keep his tone even. He was frightened for Adam, and terrified for his youngest child. No matter who or what the young man thought he had seen, someone had taken Joseph. The choice he had to make now was whether to continue to follow the man’s trail, or backtrack to the forest as his son insisted.  
Adam’s last words before he fell asleep echoed in Ben’s head.  
“He’s buried Little Joe, Pa. That wild man has buried my brother somewhere. We have to find him before it’s too late!”  
“We’ll look for Joseph come first light,” he’d replied as he must. “There’s no way to track him until it’s light. You get some sleep, boy. Things will be clearer in the morning.”  
Ben sighed.  
He could only pray ‘clearer’ meant better. 

Adam turned back toward the camp he’d left behind. The sun was cresting the tops of the trees, but it would be an hour or more before its light struck his father who lay just outside the crevice he had taken refuge in. It had taken the older man hours, but finally Pa had given in to worry and exhaustion and fallen into a hard sleep. He’d pretended to do the same. He might have slept an hour or two, but worry for his little brother made the ground beneath him feel like it was peppered with nails. The young man snorted. He knew his pa thought he was crazy. That was okay because he thought he was crazy too! He knew what he had seen and that had been one of Dusty’s little people grown big kidnapping his baby brother – and yet, he knew as well that he couldn’t have seen it. As he lay there, waiting for Pa to doze off, he’d had time to think. He was pretty sure he’d figured it out. It couldn’t have been one of the Nunnupi, but it could have been the Indian warrior, Moon Horse. He wondered now if maybe Dusty’s tall tale of the Comanche little people had been based on the renegade Indian who roamed their lands. Cowboys on the whole were a superstitious lot and, after all, most myths had their basis in fact. The Indian was covered in furs. He could have donned them in anticipation of the storm. Natives were closer to nature than the white man and often knew what was coming. His horse was an appaloosa, the color of the moon. That could have been coincidence too.  
Adam bit his lip as he turned back to the trees. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that Little Joe wasn’t with the Indian anymore. He had to admit he’d been a little out of his head when he insisted the Nunnupi were real and Joe had been buried alive by one of them. Still, he was certain the little boy had been kidnapped for some unknown reason and was being held captive. There was no telling what the old Indian might have done to him. If his brother was lying somewhere exposed, maybe with an injury….  
He didn’t need the cold to shudder.  
The sun was climbing toward the west by the time Adam spied the tracks that had led him up the into the high country in the first place. Pa was sure the man was headed on into the hills. He’d thought so too at first, but changed his mind. He’d seen that horse and its bare back. Pa hadn’t. He had to trust his instincts, and they told him his brother wasn’t with Moon Horse anymore, but back in that damn forest where he’d first seen him. Strange as it seemed, leaving Joe there fit in with Dusty’s tale of the Nunnupi taking naughty little boys and burying them for safe-keeping. Maybe the Indian believed he was one of the little people. Stranger things had happened. After all, the institutions back East were full of men who thought they were Napoleon, or even Jesus. Adam halted and turned back again. Pa would be awake by now. He was gonna skin him when he found out he’d disobeyed.  
The young man’s lips hardened into a thin, determined line.  
That was, unless he found Little Joe.

FIVE

It was dark as midnight under a skillet as Hoss would say.  
He missed Hoss.  
He even missed bossy old Adam.  
He wanted his pa.  
Joe sniffed in snot even as his tears watered the earth that had become his bed. It was kind of hard to breathe and he was getting sleepy. The little boy closed his eyes and then jerked and began to stamp his feet. He shook his head and started counting out loud – from one hundred backward. He had to do something. He wasn’t about to go to sleep.  
He knew if he did that he would never wake up and wherever he was would become his coffin.  
Joe let out a little sigh. He’d kind of got past the idea that he was in a rabbit warren. If it was, it had to be an awful big one. That or the little people had made him little too so he would fit. Rabbit warrens were lined with fur and other soft things to make them warm and cozy. He wasn’t warm or cozy. He was cold. Really cold. And there was nothing between him and the ground.  
There was just…ground.  
The little boy turned his face toward the wall and let the tears fall. If he was gonna die… Well, he felt real bad. He’d been angry with Adam just before he took off to look for the penny buns. Older brother was sitting at Pa’s desk. He’d tried to tell him about his dream like he’d asked the night before, but big brother had no time to listen. He’d even flung a few chancy words at Adam to get him to pay attention, but all the young man had done was nod and say ‘mm-hmm’ and tell him to be a good boy and stay out of trouble. By the time he got outside he was proclaiming to the world that he wasn’t a ‘boy’; that he was all grown up and could take care of himself no matter what happened.  
Little Joe sniffed. He didn’t want to be grown up anymore. He didn’t want to take care of himself. He wanted someone to find him.  
“I’m sorry, Adam,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean it. Please come find me.”

Adam crouched on the ground close to the point where he had entered the forest the night before. It was hard to see anything. Just after it passed its zenith, the sun slid under a blanket of clouds – and then pulled the blanket up over its head. It might as well have been dusk. The young man was sure his pa was on his heels by now, so he didn’t have any time to waste, but he needed…direction. He’d backtracked Moon Horse’s trail to this point but had no idea where to go from here. It seemed incredible to him that any man could kidnap a little boy and then abandon him, but it was pretty clear that was what had happened. Maybe the Indian was crazy like the ranch hands said. If he had lost his son, maybe he wanted the world to pay.  
Or maybe he just wanted white men to pay.  
Adam rose to his feet and brushed off the knees of his black pants. He stood, listening to the discourse of the branches and their leaves. If he knew their language, would their words lead him to Little Joe? He didn’t know what to do. There were no more signs; no tracks to follow. Too much bracken had fallen overnight and been blown about by the wind.  
At a loss, he closed his eyes and began to speak out loud. “God, I’m sorry I don’t talk to you as much as I did when I was a kid. I do believe you’re there. I guess you seemed…closer somehow out here than back East.” Adam drew a breath before continuing. “My little brother is in this forest somewhere, I’m sure of it. Lost for sure. Buried…maybe. I have no idea where to look. I need your help.” The young man’s lips grew taut and then turned up in a self-deprecating grin. “I know there are more things than are dreamt of in my philosophy, but I’m having a hard time accepting the idea that there are little people in the woods, or ghost horses. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what I believe. Little Joe is gone. The man who took him – whoever he is – may be out of his mind. Please, God, help me find my brother. Give me a sign.”  
Before he could open his eyes he heard it – a low blow, followed by a high-spirited neigh. Then, he saw him. Mua-puuku, the ghost horse, with his human companion by his side.  
The word formed on his lips. ‘How?’  
He’d last seen Moon Horse and the stallion in the high country, headed in the opposite direction from where he was now. There had been no tracks leading back.  
He couldn’t be here.  
Tossing logic aside, Adam took a step forward and shouted, “Where’s my brother? What have you done with Little Joe?”  
The hairy man stared at him, for hairy man he was. At this distance the young man could see it wasn’t his clothes that were covered in fur as he’d thought, but his skin. He had a wild look about him, like men who’ve been lost as children and raised by wolves. The stranger gave no answer to his query, but lifted a hand and pointed. The appaloosa pounded the ground with his hooves and tossed his head in response before moving forward. There was little light in the forest – in fact, it was dark as the grave – but what light there was chose just that moment to break through the leafy canopy above his head to strike the horse’s fiery eyes.  
They were red as a demon’s.  
Adam held his ground and refused to yield.  
His jaw tight, he faced the man down. “You don’t scare me,” he declared. “The only thing that scares me is knowing my brother is here, somewhere in this forest, frightened and alone!” Adam took a step forward. “Where is he? Tell me! Where is Little Joe?!”  
The horse was close enough now he could feel the breath from its nostrils.  
It was hot as Hades.  
The man pointed again. “Amocualli Coneti,” he said.  
Comanche was a derivation of Aztec. He knew a few words. Most he’d learned from captives among the Apache. That first one meant ‘bad’. It wasn’t hard to guess the second.  
“My little brother is not a bad boy! He’s about the best boy ever. And even if Joe has been naughty at times, he’s not yours to punish!” Looking into the stranger’s eyes was like peering through a window into Hell. They blazed with unholy and unjustified pride. Adam had seen that look before, in the gaze of a dirty sheriff whose gun smoke had left an innocent man dead; in the eyes of a magistrate sentencing a young mother to a year in jail for stealing a loaf of bread to feed her starving children;  
The only thing to do was throw himself on the mercy of the court.  
“Look….” Adam swallowed over both rage and fear. “Take me if you want. Bury me! I’ve sinned and sinned willfully. I admit it! Little Joe is only ten-years-old. He’s a child!” Tears streamed down his checks. His voice choked. “Please…just…. Please, give him back!”  
The horse nudged him with its muzzle and struck the earth with its massive hooves.  
The sound was hollow.  
The young man’s heart beat three times before two things happened, neither of which he was able to explain. First, Mua-puuku reared up and began to move back. At the same time, Moon Horse came forward. There was a flash of light, brilliant as the sun striking the faceted surface of a diamond, and the two became one.  
The second thing?  
He passed out.

Ben Cartwright moved like a man possessed. He was furious with his eldest son and at the same time scared stiff that something had happened to both Adam and Little Joe. His oldest boy rarely disobeyed him and only when he felt he hadn’t been heard or whatever he’d said had been unfairly disregarded. It troubled him that he’d let him down. Of course, it was possible Adam was out of his head and that scared him even more. With a head wound, the boy shouldn’t have been on his feet, let alone traipsing through the wilderness in search of his little brother.  
The rancher drew a breath of wintry air. It came out as a cloud.  
Joseph.  
“Dear God, boy,” he breathed. “Where are you?”  
He was on Buck’s back at the moment, but the forest was drawing near. Soon he would be forced to dismount and continue on foot. His only hope was that Adam had left a clear trail for him to follow. The boy obviously wasn’t thinking clearly.  
How could he, if he believed in Dusty’s tall tale?  
The rancher tethered his horse to a low bush just outside of the wooded area. Everything that was in him urged him to make haste. Ben forced himself to keep an even pace for fear he would miss an important clue. The day had darkened as he rode. Storm clouds had overtaken the sky once again and he feared an early snow. Adam and Little Joe had been out in the cold for a day and a half. Dusty’s Nunnupi and their ghost steed aside, both boys could have caught cold or worse from exposure. As the rancher entered and navigated through the tangled woods he regretted, and not for the first time, the fact that his middle son was not at his side. Hoss was his best tracker he knew, in spite of his tender years. If anyone could have found his brothers, it was –  
The older man halted at a sound. What was it? A shout of fear?  
No, a cry of horror.  
Ben took off at a clip and raced through the trees. Their thorny branches, encased in ice, clawed at his face and struck his cheeks drawing blood. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but that voice. He knew it as well as his own. It was his eldest and he was clearly terrified. Worse than that, he was crying.  
Adam was crying.  
“Adam? Son, it’s your pa! Where are you, boy?”  
Adam cried out again, but not in answer to his call.  
“Joe! God! No, Little Joe!”  
The rancher halted, unsure of his path. “Adam! Talk to me. Adam?”  
There was silence, and then.  
“Pa?”  
His love for his sons drove him to the spot. When he arrived, Ben was taken aback by what he found. Adam was seated on the ground, his long legs dangling into what appeared to be a yawning grave. Joseph was in his arms. The little boy was covered in dirt and was gray and still as the tomb. For a moment both words and action failed him. Then, he was on the move. A second later he dropped to the earth at his sons’ side.  
Adam lifted a tear-stained face and blinked as if unsure of what he saw.  
“Pa? Is it…you?”  
Ben touched his boy’s head. “Yes, It’s me. I’m here, son. Are you all right?”  
It took a second before Adam nodded.  
“And Little Joe? How is your brother?”  
Adam broke. Sobs wracked him once more. “I don’t know, Pa. I can’t tell if he’s breathing. Pa, I don’t know!”  
Ben glanced at the gaping hole and shuddered. Then he reached out for his baby. At first Adam resisted , but finally surrendered his brother. As he took Little Joe in his arms, the worried father whispered a quick prayer. Then he placed two fingers to the side of his child’s neck.  
The pulse of life was still there.  
“Is he… Is Joe…?”  
“He’s alive, son. Your brother is alive.” The older man frowned as he pushed a hank of muddy curls off his youngest boy’s forehead. “How?” Ben breathed, his voice robbed of strength. “Why?”  
Adam made no reply. Now that he no longer needed to be strong, his eldest had succumbed. 

Ben looked up from his book at the sound of footsteps. He rose from the chair he occupied beside his son’s bed and crossed over to the door and opened it. It didn’t surprise him at all to find Hoss outside. With a glance behind, the older man closed the door and moved into the hall.  
“Hey, Pa.”  
“Hey, yourself.”  
Hoss’ crystal clear eyes were fixed on the door. “How are they doin’?” he asked.  
They’d put Adam and Joseph together in his eldest’s bed. Adam had become extremely agitated when he’d wakened and couldn’t find his brother and Paul Martin thought it for the best. After all, both boys were being treated as a result of exposure to the cold. Adam was doing better than Little Joe. He’d developed a severe cold but now, several days after arriving home, seemed to be on the mend. Joseph was fighting pneumonia. Ben shook his head and let out a sigh. He’d tried his best to dismiss the idea that his youngest had actually been in that open grave.  
The dirt the boy coughed up proved otherwise.  
Paul had been outraged, of course. He was outraged. He was also frustrated in that he had nowhere to direct that rage. Adam admitted he had been out of his head when he found him, but he insisted he had been right in the first place – it had been one of the Nunnupi that had kidnapped his brother and buried him alive as punishment for being a ‘naughty’ boy.  
Joseph’s nightmares bore testament to their shared madness.  
“Pa?”  
He smiled. “Sorry, my mind was wandering Paul said your brothers are holding their own.”  
Hoss pursed his lips. “I talked to Hop Sing and he said Adam’s some better. That his fever broke and he took some food. But, Pa, what about Little Joe?”  
Ben looked at the only boy he had who was still on his feet. It was obvious, though, that Hoss had suffered nearly as much as his brothers. His middle son had lost weight. His clear blue eyes were haunted by the nightmare images his brothers’ ravings had inspired.  
“Joseph is still a very sick boy,” he admitted, “but Paul thinks he’ll recover just fine.”  
“Is that the truth, Pa? Is that really what Doc Martin said?”  
Ben reached out and took the fifteen-year-old in his arms. He drew the boy close. “Really,” he replied. “What your younger brother needs is rest…and love.”  
Hoss’ gaze returned to the door as he released him. “Old Adam is givin’ him that, ain’t he? Last time I came in he was talkin’ to Little Joe real low, and he ain’t left his side once.”  
Adam, it seemed, was the only one who could calm his younger brother’s fears when Joseph’s fever was at its height.  
“Pa?”  
“Yes?”  
“You think…” Hoss cleared his throat. “You really think it was that old Indian the men talk about what took Little Joe?”  
It had to be. The only thing that made sense was that Moon Horse was real and that, angry still at the loss of his child so many years before, he had taken Little Joe in recompense and then decided to end Joseph’s life in the most horrific way.  
Anything else, well, it was beyond belief.  
“You think maybe Moon Horse was acting out that story? You know, the one Dusty told us about the Comanche’s little people and their ghost horse?”  
“He might have been, son. Men who are distracted by grief can be driven to almost anything.”  
“Adam says he was one of them little people. He says he saw that there Moon Horse and his appaloosa become one.”  
Ben frowned. “I know what your brother said, and I know he believes that’s what he saw, but it’s simply not possible, Hoss. There are no shape-shifting tricksters or ghost horses who haunt the land seeking to mete out punishment to naughty little boys.” The older man sighed. “Only madmen who believe there are.”  
Hoss twisted his lips and gave out a sigh. “I guess you’re right, Pa. But Adam, well, he won’t listen to none of that. He gets right angry if you try to tell him otherwise.”  
“Let your brother be, Hoss. He’s hurting now. In time, he’ll come to see the truth.”

Adam Cartwright lay in his bed listening to his little brother breathe. Over the last hour each breath had come a little easier, and the last time he’d felt Little Joe’s forehead, his fever had been down. Still, Joe tossed and turned. He shouted sometimes and struck out with his hand. The young man made sure he was always there to catch it. He didn’t want the boy to think he was alone. The harrowing events of the last week still haunted his baby brother.  
As they haunted him.  
As a rational man he knew what he saw was not possible, and yet he had seen it. He’d explored all the possibilities and the only explanation that he could come up with – that didn’t fly in the face of reason –was that, somehow, he’d been drugged. Maybe during the time he was out. It was after he woke up that he’d started ranting about the Nunnupi and their ghost horse. The tale Dusty spun that night at the camp would have lodged in his subconscious, refreshed and reinvigorated by the retelling. Due to the concussion he suffered, it would have been easy to confuse a deranged Indian man in furs and his tall appaloosa horse with the merciless Nunnupi and their ghost mount Mua-puuku.  
Still, one thing troubled him. Why had Moon Horse placed his brother in a coffin made of earth if he wasn’t one of the Comanche’s little people? It was beyond inhuman. The only answer, of course, was that Moon Horse himself believed he was one of the wild people and thought his horse to be Mua-puuku; that he believed they were one.  
Just like he’d seen them become.  
Adam raised his head off the pillow and listened. He’d heard Pa and Hoss talking outside the door. It was quiet now, so he guessed they were gone. The young man reached over and touched his little brother again, just to make sure he was real, and then tossed the covers back and gingerly sat up. He waited until the stars had cleared to put his feet on the floor, and then pulled on his robe before heading for the window. It was quiet outside. Quiet and still and terribly beautiful. The storm that struck shortly after they reached home had been a doozey. It had raged for two days and left everything coated with a thick layer of ice. The young man shivered as he watched the moonlight spark and dance across the fence rails. It put him in mind of their camp in the woods and everything that had followed. Idly he wondered if he would ever know what had been true and what a fever-dream.  
As Adam turned back into the room, he heard a sound. One that had the power to strike terror in his heart – a low blow, followed by a triumphant neigh. The young man’s eyes narrowed as he pivoted on his heel and looked out, seeking its source. At first he saw nothing. Then, a shadow shifted and took the shape of a tall man seated on a horse whose fiery eyes were red as a demon’s.  
A moment later, the yard was empty.  
Adam stood where he was for several rapid beats of his heart, contemplating what he had seen, and then returned to his bed, crawled under the covers, and drew his little brother’s sleeping form into his arms.  
And didn’t let go until spring.  
_____  
END


End file.
